


downgrade

by orphan_account



Category: Eddsworld - All Media Types
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-05-04
Updated: 2016-06-08
Packaged: 2018-06-06 10:47:56
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 3
Words: 2,602
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6750934
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Tord fucked up, that much he knows. But when a hasty decision puts him and his most reliable underlings on the run, he'll have to face his pride and move on. If he doesn't get killed or thrown into jail first.</p><p>this was written by the COOLEST PERSON IN THE WHOLE UNIVERSE, ELLIOT. they are my good fren and did all the writing, i beta'd and edited a little. this is posted with their consent.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. death of the red leader

**Author's Note:**

  * For [dancing_mannequins](https://archiveofourown.org/users/dancing_mannequins/gifts).



Tord walked into the living room, looking at his friends. Something wasn’t right. Edd and Matt sat on the sofa, watching TV while Tom sharpened his harpoons. Normal enough, right? So why did he have such a grim feeling?

_Remember._

"Remember? Remember what?!”

“Tord?” The Norwegian turned to Edd. “Who are you talking to?”

“Ah, no one, just myself haha!” Was Tord hearing things? Maybe he had finally snapped and gone insane. Massaging his temples, he plopped onto the couch, next to Tom. _You hurt them._ This time Tord ignored the voices, trying to focus on the bacon cola commercial in front of him. _You don’t deserve their kindness._  He tuned it out, tapping his fingers on his knees. _You’re a monster._ He cradled his head in his hands. _You don’t deserve to live._ "SHUT UP!"

Tord shot up in his cot, cold sweat dripping down his face. Even though it was a moderately warm evening, he was shivering. The boy with the devilish horns held his face in his hands and began to sob. Why does it hurt so much? It shouldn't hurt so much!

 

Paul ran to Tord's room, a half asleep Patryk trailing behind.

"BOSS!!" He kicked open the door to find his once ruthless leader, frail and drenched in his own tears. Both men froze with shock, Patryk now wide awake.

Patryk was the first to approach the shuddering form, "Hey, Boss, are you okay?" When he got no response, he looked over to his wide-eyed partner. Paul warily came over, making sure to keep his movement slow, as though approaching a frightened squirrel.

"R-red leader what's-"

"DON'T CALL ME THAT!" Both men were in shock, looking at each other, at a loss for what to do. "Never call me that again..." Tord's voice was quieter this time, more broken. "That title made me ruin everything..." And with that, he began to sob again. Hesitantly, Patryk put his arm around his small frame, pulling him into his chest where he sobbed harder. Patryk looked at Paul, then the bed, then Paul again. Needless to say, he wanted him to help comfort the broken young man. So Paul sat down, stroking Tord's back.

"What's wrong Bo-I mean- What's wrong Tord." When he got no response, he sighed. This was going to be a long night.

 

When Tord woke up then next morning, he found himself sore and exhausted. Sighing, he got up to get ready for the day. The brunet brushed his teeth and began to wash his face, cautiously going around the socket that he once held his eye. He had to keep his image. The world wasn't going to take over itself... But did he really want to rule it anymore?

Looking in the mirror, Tord saw that his face was bleeding. He glanced down at his hands and saw they were covered in blood. _His_ blood. Perhaps he had scrubbed too hard. He wiped away the blood with a cloth and put on a patch to cover the open wound. He grabbed an eye patch and went to change into his uniform. He had awoken pretty late, so his underlings were probably messing around like the morons they were. Brutes were easy to control, but they were pretty dim. The minute he stepped into the mess hall, it became completely silent.

"R-red leader!!!!" Said one of his lieutenants, like he could keep track. "You rarely come to visit!! Is there something you need?" The man was fearful, which was wise.

"Yes... I have an announcement..." Tord toyed with the gun in his pocket, this wouldn't end well.

"W-w-what is it, Sir?"Gazing into the crowd of seat vigilantes, he took a deep breath in.

"The movement is over. As of this moment on, the Red Leader is dead." Yes, this was right. The thing that had ruined his life would die. He could go home. He could be with his friends. He could make this right!

Then a gun was fired, and Tord collapsed to the floor.


	2. talk shit, get hit

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> hello lovelies!! so sorry this is so late, we had another person editing but they dropped out of both my and elliot's lives very recently :')  
> i hope you like this chapter! again, sorry it took so long.

The humming of an engine was the first thing he heard. Tord's eyes opened abruptly, the familiar sense of a car cushion against the back of his head was somewhat disheartening. Tord glanced around at where he was laying, it seemed that this beat up seat was something he couldn’t place his finger on, looking further he saw two people sitting at the front of what seemed to be a car.   
“I’m telling you, Patty, the Boss just isn’t right in the head! He just revoked his title as the Red Leader and has been waking up in the dead of night, screaming, for the past MONTH! He’s too much of a liability, especially right now!”  
“Well we couldn’t just leave him there! They had already begun to start a mob! And dammit, Paul, even if there hadn’t been a mob, he got shot, for fuck’s sake!” Paul knew when he had crossed a line, and this time, he had REALLY crossed a line. Patryk rarely cursed, and it was even r for it to be directed at him. “I just don’t want to purposely jeopardize your safety, but fine, if you want to take him in-“   
“Where are we?” The soldiers stiffened, turning around.   
“S-sir! You’re awake!”   
“Don’t make me repeat myself...” Paul brought the car to a halt, breathing smoke out of the open window.   
“We’re at your new home.”  
Peeking out the window, Tord saw a quaint little brick home. The shutters were a soft blue color to complement the flowers surrounding the house and the walkway leading up to the front door. Tord was both shocked and disgusting at the happy sight. “This is where you live? Why did I not know this?”   
Patryk smiled sadly, “There are some things better kept a secret.” The two men that used to be Tord’s underlings, now helped him exit the red vehicle and enter the humble abode. Paul left the room while Patryk carefully set Tord down on the sofa, cringing slightly as Tord suppressed a yelp of pain.  
“Sorry, Sir!” Paul came back in, holding a more sophisticated looking first aid kit. Sitting down next to the wounded man, he pulled out gauze, tweezers, a needle, thread, and some alcohol swabs. “I know you’re not gonna like this, Boss, but you’ll get a nasty infection if we don’t take care of that.” Tord ground his teeth, muttering what Paul assumed was ‘Shut up and get it over with’, but he wasn’t sure. Patryk smiled down at Tord, holding his hand, and giving a light squeeze. Before he could protest, Paul plunged his tweezers into Tord’s wound, eliciting a scream of pain.

Blinking tired eyes open, Tord found himself in a rather small room. There was one bed, which he was currently residing, a window, a large dresser, and a mirror… And not much else. Tord didn’t recall passing out, or coming to this strange place for that matter. Deciding to investigate, he sat up, only to be greeted with a stabbing pain on the right side of his midsection. He cast his gaze upon his stomach, he was wearing a tee shirt a good two sizes larger than his, and as he lifted the hem of said shirt, he found the source of his grief. His stomach was wrapped in gauze, blood staining the cloth due to his sudden movements. Tord scowled, someone had a lot to answer for.   
Tord cautiously made his way to what he assumed was a kitchen, the smell of pancakes and bacon calling to him. He began to drool at the scent but quickly regained composure. He was in an unknown environment that could house many enemies, the Norwegian had to remain vigilant. He continued down the hall, his back to the wall, scanning the area. Creeping into the room, Tord saw the back of a man, cigarette smoke mixing with the bacon’s fragrance.   
“Oh! Good morning, Boss!” Tord whipped around, taking a step back and stiffening. The happy go lucky, yet bitterly sarcastic man known as Patryk stood there with an inviting smile. Paul, who had been seemingly oblivious, lazily glanced behind him before completely turning to face them.  
“Well, looks like sleeping beauty finally rose from her grave.” The smoker smirked, putting the cooked food on plates. "What happened?” Tord inquired, still on guard.   
“Ah, well, it’s a long story, Boss… It’s easier to eat while we talk.” Patryk sat down next to Paul, pecking his cheek lovingly. Tord raised an eyebrow, hesitantly taking a seat across from the strange pair. “I hope you’re hungry!”   
Why were they being too nice, especially when they looked so tense? Tord’s full intent was to drag every piece of information from them right then and there, but his gut had other plans. As soon as he took a bite of the meal, he was scarfing it down. How long had he gone without a proper meal?  
When Tord had finally finished, Paul scooped up his plate and started his daily chore of washing the dishes. He hated washing the dishes, but Patryk was on dyer duty. “I have a few questions. Why am I here, where is here, are you two dating, and why is there blood exiting my person?” The couple had been expecting the third degree and were completely prepared… Or so they thought.   
“Well-”   
“Just give me a straight forward answer.”   
“Jeez, no need to be so rude. You’re at our house, we’re actually married, you’re here because you stopped the movement and an angry mob shot you, luckily I’m a great medic and stitched you back together.” Paul’s lighter sparked to life and he lit a cigar before handing it to Tord, hoping to calm his leader’s nerves. Tord took it gratefully, he really needed a smoke. He took a puff, releasing it slowly into the air as he gathered his thoughts.   
“Why didn’t you let me die?”  
Both men stopped what their previous affairs to turn and look at the used-to-be fugitive leader.   
“W-what do you mean?” The non-smoker was the first to snap out of his stupor.   
“Why did you not let me die? It would have been very easy to escape the movement and live a happy and normal life together, so why did you save me?” Paul continued to scrub away whilst Patryk attempted to defend their actions.   
“We couldn’t very well let you die!! Red Leader or not you still deserve a chance to live a normal life as well-”   
“NO I DON’T! I RUINED EVERYTHING FOR A PLAN THAT I GAVE UP ON! YOU SHOULD HAVE JUST LEFT ME THERE TO ROT!” Tord clenched his fists, his voice quieter. “Now you dumbasses have a fugitive and a wanted criminal in your perfect fucking lives.”   
Paul calmly walked over, against his husband’s protests, and stopped in front of the smaller male.   
Tord looked up glaring, “What do you wa-” His sentence was cut short by a swift but firm slap across the face, he froze in shock.   
“Shut up. We saved you because we thought you deserved a second fucking chance at living, and if you’re going to bitch and moan because we SAVED YOUR GODDAMN LIFE, you can keep it to yourself.” The red-clad man hung his head, tears welling up in his eyes as he dropped to the floor.   
“I don’t deserve to live...”


	3. humiliating vunerability

After that, the couple had given Tord his space, but the things the young Norwegian had said were troubling. Did he truly think with all honesty that he did not deserve to live? Sure he wasn't exactly over qualified or anything, but that didn't mean he had to die!!   
Paul had discussed it with his husband that night, but they still had no clue what to do about the wanted man. They couldn't get him the help he needed if he was in jail, and this boy needed help. Patryk, bless his soul, was worried about Tord. He had stopped coming out of his room altogether, which had caused Patryk to scold Paul for his impulsive actions. Paul had to admit, maybe hitting a suicidal man wasn't the best course of action, but then again, he hadn't known. The married pair were entirely at a loss of what to do, but they couldn't just leave Tord alone in this state, could they? No, they couldn't, and no, they wouldn't. 

It soon became a nightly occurrence for Tord. He would wake up in the dead of night from a horrid dream, have himself a mighty panic attack, scratch his face until old wound reopened, then sobbed himself back to sleep. Was it the most healthy coping mechanism? Not by a long shot, but it was all he had. After a few weeks of staying cooped up in his room, he became tired of tinkering with the wiring in his robotic arm, or counting the lives he had ruined. He was tempted to go out, but he didn't. Another week passed before it all went spiraling out of control.   
The Norwegian had a particularly awful nightmare, screaming and crying and kicking. The bloody and rotting corpses of the friends he had turned on we're coming his way. They spewed insults which burn like acid. Suddenly, he was shifted to a small room completely covered in mirrors, where he had to face himself, the voices of his friends screaming all the wrongs he had done. Blood had begun to fill the room, and soon he was drowning. Drowning in a bloodbath of his own sins. How fitting.   
Patryk ran in, followed by a slightly sluggish Paul. Tord was all but convulsing in his bed, screaming how sorry he was. It was a pitiful sight really, but it was painful to watch. Patryk had immediately found himself at Tord's side, holding his head to his chest, stroking the man's hair. Paul went to fetch the first aid kit, seeing how Tord's wounds had only gotten worse.   
"Shh, hey, it's okay, Tord. You're safe, everything will be alright." Patryk whispered to the smaller and so much more vulnerable male. Tord had woken up, and was shaking so hard it was like he was vibrating. He couldn't stop sobbing and which only made his wounds hurt more. His salty tears mixed with his free falling blood, staining his shirt and the man who was comforting him.   
Paul had come back, medical kit in hand, and had sat down gently next to the once Red Leader. Tord was humiliated, but had grown too tired to care. He allowed Paul to gingerly disinfect the right side of his face, bandaging it before replacing the medical patch on its rightful stop atop Tord's eye socket.  
The lack of conversation the next day was uncomfortable but expected. Tord had begun to step foot out of his room more often, but only for short periods at a time. The news had covered the disbanding of the vigilante Red Army, and there was a photo of Tord.   
'Please! If you know the whereabouts or any information regarding this man, contact authorities, he is considered armed and dangero-' Paul had had enough tv for today.   
"Patty," Patryk turned at the sound of his lover. "we gotta do something about him. We can't keep letting him waste away in there. Hell, if we do, this whole chapter of our lives will look like some shittily written story." Placing a swift kiss on Paul's lips, Patryk smiled, already devising a plan on how to lure Tord out. "Don't worry, we'll help him."


End file.
